


scattered smothered covered

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak is So Done, Eddie is a Paramedic, Immaturity, M/M, Paramedic Eddie Kaspbrak, Repression, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie is a Cook, Some Humor, Waffle House, When You Physically Fight Your Crush Because You Haven't Fully Accepted Your Gay Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Richie serves him scrambled eggs again, with a smirk.“Richie,” he calls as Richie starts on his next order. “I ordered over easy.”“Hm?” Richie answers over his shoulder.“Look,” Eddie says, as Richie walks over to him, “I’m not interested in messing around. Just give me the correct order.”Richie grins. “Whatever you say, cutie.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 168





	scattered smothered covered

**Author's Note:**

> I had no intention of writing anything today but [lizifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizifer/pseuds/lizifer) showed me [this redditships Tweet](https://twitter.com/redditships/status/1260126130687881217), which is one of the funniest things I've read in recent memory, and said "Eddie as the boyfriend and richie as the waffle house cook." So this is all her fault.

Eddie figures he’s allowed a few indulgences in life, and if one of those indulgences is the All-Star Special at Waffle House, nobody’s going to say shit to him about it. 

After a long shift in the ambulance with Bev, sometimes there’s really just nothing more he wants in life than a black coffee and late-night greasy plates with two eggs over easy, well-done hash browns (scattered on the grill, smothered with onions, and covered with cheese), crispy bacon, lightly toasted wheat toast, and a waffle with two little containers of butter. The graveyard shift crew at this downtown Athens location knows him and Bev well, and everything’s always perfect. Yes, it’s probably giving him some sort of cancer, and yes, it’s definitely giving him heartburn (especially the onions), but sometimes nothing else will do after a day of saving dumb college kids from themselves.

Today has been an especially long day—it’s rush at the frats and sororities downtown, and there are plenty of freshmen with alcohol poisoning, as well as a few accidents—and he’s really looking forward to devouring the All-Star Special and getting home. He settles in at the counter and the usual cashier brings them coffees. It’s noisy in here, loud conversations as well as the clink of dishware and the hissing of food on the hot flattops. The late-night crowd around him is ridiculous as usual, with a lot of hipsters from the Georgia Theatre show next door that just got out, as well as the one at the 40 Watt a couple blocks over. 

Speaking of hipsters, there seems to be one working the grill: a tall, broad-shouldered guy with glasses and slightly shaggy hair, a dense five o’clock shadow on his very square jaw, and a loud, funny laugh. Edde’s never seen him before. He’s got a lanyard decked with a ton of Waffle House–related buttons, and the back of his royal blue uniform shirt indicates he’s a Rock Star Grill Operator. Eddie’s familiar enough with Waffle House to know that means he must have passed a number of tests and evaluations, that he has a ServSafe certificate, and he might be a manager on this shift, too. So he’s not only cute, he knows what he’s doing. 

Eddie, drinking his coffee, is having a hard time paying attention to what Bev’s saying because he’s busy watching the cook—at one point, he can see his nametag, which says _Richie_ —as he works the line. There’s a system the crew uses to tell the cooks what the orders are, where they mark empty plates with packages of condiments in an elaborate code that also involves napkins and utensils sometimes. Eddie hasn’t figured it out yet, but he’s happy to try by watching Richie. He’s not only adept at turning the orders, he’s quick in conversation, laughing and joking with the rest of the crew. Eddie is rather charmed. Bev has to wave her hand in front of his face more than once to get his attention. “Sorry, just tired,” he says, raising his brow, holding up his coffee cup.

Richie’s so fast and skilled that it’s all the more disappointing when Eddie’s much-anticipated order is set in front of him and the eggs are hard, not runny.

“Hey,” Eddie calls to the cook, whose back is to him. “Hey. Richie.”

Richie, looking puzzled, turns around, not expecting a customer to call him by name, apparently, much less one he doesn’t know. His eyes widen briefly when he sees Eddie. “What’s up?”

“I ordered these over easy,” Eddie says sternly. 

“Oh! Sorry, man,” Richie says, with a wink that leaves Eddie flustered. The eggs are on the plate with the toast and the hash browns, and Richie reaches to take the whole plate back.

“Hey,” Eddie says sharply, grabbing it.

“I’m replacing your eggs, dude,” Richie says. “It’ll take five seconds. Chill.” 

Eddie hates being told to chill, and he’s hungry. He’s so annoyed he forgets to hold on to the plate. The cashier holds out a pot of coffee and asks if he wants more, and Eddie grumbles in the affirmative. Next to him he can hear Bev stifle a laugh. “Shut up,” he mutters. She just laughs for real.

The plate comes back to him with scrambled eggs on it.

“Hey,” Eddie says loudly over the din, as Richie turns back to the grill. “I asked for over easy.”

Richie turns, and fucking _smirks_ at him. “Oh, my bad.” He takes the plate back again, and Eddie stifles a shriek.

Somehow, the plate comes back to him with two _hardboiled_ eggs, which is insane, and another wink from Richie. Fuming, Eddie decides to go ahead and eat them—they’re a good source of protein, and he’s hungry as hell at this point. He’s scowling the entire time as he polishes off his plate. Damn it, Richie is a great cook.

He and Bev end up at the same Waffle House a few nights later, and Richie’s working again—maybe he’s on the graveyard shift here now. Eddie orders over easy with his All-Star Special again, hoping Richie won’t fuck it up. 

Richie serves him scrambled eggs again, with a smirk.

“Richie,” he calls as Richie starts on his next order. “I ordered over easy.” 

“Hm?” Richie answers over his shoulder.

“Look,” Eddie says, as Richie walks over to him, “I’m not interested in messing around. Just give me the correct order.”

Richie grins. “Whatever you say, cutie.” Bev covers her mouth over a laugh and Eddie feels his face go red.

On the plate that Richie brings back to him is a piece of toast with a hole in the middle, in which is a fried egg. Eddie picks up the piece of toast and throws it at Richie, hitting him in the shoulder. 

Richie gives Eddie a comically startled look, and watches the toast drop to the floor before exclaiming, “Hey, fuck you, man!” Picking the toast up, he comes around the end of the counter, and throws it back at him. 

Eddie shoves him right in his stupid big broad chest, his lanyard and buttons jangling. Richie barely even rocks back on his heels. Eddie grapples with him briefly, feeling ridiculous and a little dizzy at how big and solid Richie is, until Bev, her hands cupped around her mouth, says “Eddie. Cut it out,” and Eddie relents. 

“This is bullshit!” Eddie says. The other Waffle House patrons pay him some attention, but not much; a paramedic getting into a fight with a Waffle House cook is not a surprising thing to see in downtown Athens. He strongly considers walking out right there, but he’s hungry, damn it, so he wolfs down the rest of the food, downs the rest of his coffee, and leaves, Bev close behind, not saying a word but obviously trying not to laugh. 

Fuck it, this is Eddie’s Waffle House and he was here first, he thinks the next time he goes, again with Bev, and Richie’s working again. Through gritted teeth, he orders the All-Star Special with two eggs over easy. Richie, overhearing his order, starts whistling the Smashmouth song. When he gets to the part of the song with “rock star” in it, he points with his thumb at the back of his own shirt. Eddie knows this because he’s watching him. He’s so interested in watching him do his thing that he forgets to check what kind of eggs he’s making him, and bam, Richie sets down in front of him a plate with scrambled eggs on it. 

Eddie grabs Richie by the collar of his shirt, watching his eyes widen with surprise. “Over. Easy. Asshole,” Eddie hisses. Richie grins, raising his hands in supplication. Next to him, Bev groans.

He gets eggs over hard, and eats them anyway, fuming, because Richie’s going to waste a shitload of eggs at this rate.

A few nights later, Bev declares she’s not coming with him this time because he’ll just end up fighting the cook again and making an idiot of himself. She says she’ll go to The Grill instead rather than be party to Eddie’s little Waffle House fight club. Fine, whatever. 

He chooses a seat near the end of the counter, orders the All-Star with everything as usual and the eggs over easy, and is greeted with eggs sunny side up and another wink from Richie. Before he can think, Eddie dashes behind the counter after him and grabs the back of his shirt; when Richie turns in surprise, Eddie smacks him in the jaw, his big stupid handsome jaw.

A flash of something unreadable his eyes, Richie dives for him and picks him up bodily with his stupid strong arms, although Eddie makes it as much of a struggle as he can, and deposits him on the other side of the counter, Eddie unable to stifle an “Oof!” as he goes down on the tiled floor. “No customers behind the counter, please,” Richie calls out, to a smattering of applause. 

“Fucking… make the fucking eggs correctly!” Eddie shouts from the floor. He gets up, fuming. “Can I get a to-go box for this,” he mutters to the cashier, waving at the rest of his food, then peeling out some bills, face flaming. He’ll be damned if he’s going to walk out with an empty stomach. Fuck Richie.

Next time he’s there, he orders the same thing again. The other cooks seem to avoid him now, and it’s always Richie that cooks his order. This time, it’s scrambled, because again Eddie is too busy watching Richie to actually pay attention to what he’s doing. His shoulders are so wide, his back is so broad… Eddie has not gotten laid in a long time, and part of him is still insisting he’s not actually attracted to men, despite what a few hookups might say, and it’s not diffcult for him to imagine getting Richie out of that dumb uniform and maybe even fucking him right here on this counter, just bending him over and going at it, Eddie’s hand curled tightly in his stupid messy hair. Fuck stupid Richie with his big square jaw. 

...Fuck, scrambled again! Eddie hops off the stool and dashes around the counter again before thinking better of it. Richie’s expecting it this time and meets his right hook with a punch to the gut. Eddie doubles over with a groan. “Oh my God,” he gasps. “Fucking over easy! Over easy, how hard is this!” 

Richie is grinning. “How hard is what?” he asks. Eddie doesn’t dare answer that. What he does say is, “Meet me outside, asshole.” And then he marches out of the Waffle House. 

He stands there on the sidewalk, breathing hard, arms folded, and is actually surprised when Richie comes out a few moments later, hat and apron off. Richie jerks his chin in the direction of the alley next door, walking toward it, and Eddie follows, filled with anticipation for… something.

Under the streetlight in the narrow alley, Richie turns to him. “So, you wanted to meet me outside?” He adds in an English accent, “Is it fisticuffs, then, sirrah?” and raises his fists in a boxing stance. 

Before he can stop himself, Eddie steps between his arms, grabs his stupid face, and kisses him. 

Richie makes a noise and then wraps his arms around him, pulling him up against him and kissing back in a way that makes Eddie suspect he’s not all that surprised. Richie walks them a few steps until Eddie’s back hits the brick wall, and he groans into the kiss as Richie grinds against him. Eddie kisses him like he wants to win at it, hooking a leg around Richie’s and grabbing at his stupid hair, biting him. “Shit,” Richie gasps, big hands on Eddie’s ass. Jesus fuck, he feels good; Eddie could do this until dawn. 

“Why can’t you just— fucking— make over easy eggs,” Eddie gets out between kisses. 

“You think I don’t know how to make over easy eggs?” Richie says, breathless, big stupid hands kneading Eddie’s ass, practically humping him in the alley next to the damn Waffle House. He’ll never make fun of drunk college kids making out in public again. “Where’s the fun in that? I was fucking with you, man.”

“Why—” Eddie’s having a hard time working out what exactly Richie is telling him, since all the blood in his body seems to be in his dick now. 

“You’re cute when you’re angry!” Richie kisses the tip of his nose, and grins, and Eddie disentangles himself from Richie’s limbs and flees into the night.

He comes back alone several days later when he misses it—the Waffle House, that is—too much. He orders only a black coffee, however, and doesn’t linger. When he leaves, along with the tip he leaves his phone number, on the back of the receipt. He would write “Richie” on there too, but he’s pretty sure Richie noticed he was there.

He doesn’t feel like he should go back until he hears from Richie, so he and Bev go to The Grill instead. Sure, they’ve got strawberry milkshakes there, but it’s just not the same. 

Butterflies in his stomach, he waits. 

A few days go by, and Eddie feels like a real idiot. 

Finally he gets a text from a number he doesn’t recognize. It says _I miss taking your orders. :(_

That night he goes to Waffle House, and Richie is working. He takes Eddie’s order personally, and makes everything perfectly, two eggs over easy included. Eddie keeps fighting back a big stupid grin as he devours the entire thing. He almost licks the plate clean, but he does lick the back of his spoon as Richie makes eye contact and actually blushes. “You have _dimples_ ,” Richie says, and pinches his cheek before Eddie can duck.

“Get back to work,” Eddie tells him, feeling his ears turning red. 

When he gets Richie in bed, at one point he tells him, “Fuck, I wanted to fuck you on the nearest Waffle House surface. I wanted to bend you over that fucking counter.”

Richie gasps back, “That's super hot and I am all for it but I would definitely get fired.”

“It would be worth it,” Eddie argues, and rather than answer back, Richie kisses him.


End file.
